


Paper Faces On Parade

by cdaae



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Ten Years Later, gustave is a man now but he's still baby, phantom is sad boi as usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdaae/pseuds/cdaae
Summary: Ten years after the events of Love Never dies- Where Christine is still alive and the phantom is unaware. Will fate cross their paths again?
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Paper Faces On Parade

**Prologue**

Ten more years had come and gone. They passed a little more slowly than they used to, empty and lifeless. There was no reason to move forward, no driving force. His son was a man now; he didn’t need his father anymore. Morosely, Erik realized he was simply waiting for death. 

He’d lived longer than he’d thought he would. In his youth, he’d abused his body with drugs, a desperate escape from his hellish reality. He’d given that way of life up more than twenty years ago. For her, he had strived to be better. So why… ten years after her death, did he still try?

Erik didn’t believe in God, but there was a small part of him, one he’d never admit existed, that feared she was an angel, watching him from above. He hoped he’d made her proud as he did his best to raise their son. He didn’t know how to be a father. Erik had never met his own, and only learned how  _ not _ to parent from his mother. He was fortunate that the boy was already ten; he never could have handled an infant. Erik knew he most likely would have made some fatal mistake, and ended his own life out of sheer guilt. 

Ending his own life… That was an idea. But if Christine was waiting in the afterlife, he could only imagine how disappointed she’d be if he cut his life short. He needed to live, to take advantage of the years she’d lost. 

With a sigh, he looked out over his domain. Phantasma had only grown over the last ten years, giving him a fortune that would almost be entirely left to Gustave. He was setting aside a small amount to have a theater built, but he still needed to pick a location. The Daae Theater would be built in memory of his beloved, but to place it on Coney Island, where her life had ended, felt wrong. He had considered returning to Paris and erecting it there. But that wasn’t right either. There were too many painful memories tied to that city. 

Gustave had been itching to travel. Erik saw Christine reflected in their son. He was so full of life, never able to sit still. While Erik was content to shut himself away, Gustave wanted to see the world. 

Perhaps a change of scenery would do them both good. There was only one question: Where to go?

**Chapter 1**

Raoul de Chagny was a very lucky man. He was lucky that Christine was still alive when he’d arrived at the pier, lucky that The Phantom was too out of his mind with distress and grief to realize she was still breathing, and lucky that he was able to get her to help fast enough. He was  _ extremely _ lucky that she woke with no memory. He was given a blank Little Lotte, allowed to write a new story and begin a new life. His past mistakes were erased and he had a wife that believed him when he told her she loved him. 

The doctor could not explain her memory loss. The bullet had hit her abdomen, there was no sign of a head injury. ‘Trauma’ was the doctor’s best guess. Raoul decided not to push his luck.

He was well aware he did not deserve a second chance. It ate at him every afternoon when he came home to his docile little wife. He’d usually find her in the armchair by the window, waiting for him. She usually greeted him with a tight embrace and peppered kisses all over his face. Raoul would hold her tightly and bury his face in her hair, reminding himself over and over again that he was a lucky man. 

Raoul and Christine had fled Coney Island as soon as she was well enough to be moved. He didn’t want to risk The Phantom finding out Christine was still alive and take her once again. He had a Christine that loved only him and was no longer tainted by  _ his _ influence. He wasn’t willing to give that up.

For ten long years, he’d lived with a wife that shirked his affection and often became lost in her thoughts, distant to him and the world. There had been a sadness he couldn’t erase and it tore him up inside. The man, that  _ phantom _ , was a monster, and yet, she missed him. He had hated them both. 

His primary goal had been to get them as far away from Coney Island as possible. Europe was out. For a truly clean slate, they both needed to go someplace where no one knew them. They settled in the Cameron Parish in Louisiana. The high French-speaking population made it easy for Raoul to find a job and navigate the town. He tried to keep Christine inside as much as possible. Because a good portion of their neighbors had just recently emigrated from France, Raoul thought it reasonable to fear Christine might be recognized. Her death was news worldwide, and he knew that if word spread she was alive, it was only a matter of time before The Phantom came for her. 

Thus, he took extra steps to guarantee she wasn’t discovered. First, he cut her hair. Christine had cried a little when he sheared away most of her curls, cutting them just above her shoulders. Raoul assured her it would grow back, but he maintained the short style for her. It made her hair easier to dye. L’Oreal was a new company when he first began dyeing her hair and the product was only available in France, but Raoul made quick connections in their new home and soon had a monthly supply delivered to them. Once a month, he would run Christine a hot bath with salts and candles, and dye her hair for her. Christine had been hesitant to try this as well, but Raoul had dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder and murmured that he would love it very much if she tried it, and she relented immediately. He was fortunate that she struggled to deny him anything. He also felt incredibly guilty for preying on her emotions.

Raoul wanted to be a good husband. He wanted to return to those idyllic days at the opera and be everything he’d promised her. Comfort and security, love and warmth… He had utterly failed her, but he was trying. He was working- imagine that, a vicomte working! He knew that the Christine he married would have given him a sparkling smile and told him how proud she was of him, that he would give up everything for her and perform manual labor. His current Christine was proud too, but the meaning behind it wasn’t the same. She didn’t know he’d given anything up. At some point, Raoul realized he was ok with that. He didn’t need the credit; it wasn’t important. He would do anything for her, now that he had a second chance to be a good husband. 

They made a decent living. One of their French neighbors taught Christine to knit and, while he was away at his job, she made hats and scarves that the mothers in their neighborhood would buy for their children. Raoul worked at a local market, moving boxes of produce and stocking the bins. It wasn’t a job fit for a Vicomte, but he found he didn’t mind the work. They made enough to scrape by, and that was all they really needed. Raoul hadn’t known how to live without opulence, but the reality wasn’t as horrible as he’d always believed. 

When they settled in New Orleans, Raoul realized they needed new names. He couldn’t very well introduce himself as the Vicomte de Chagny, but “Raoul and Christine” would be too familiar to anyone who’d read a newspaper within the last few months. Raoul chose to use Philippe for himself. The name had belonged to his older brother, but he had passed so long ago, that the death wasn’t fresh in anyone’s mind. Raoul had no living family to expose him, and he liked using a name that meant something to him. For Christine, he chose Charlotte. “That is why I call you ‘Little Lotte’”, he’d murmured into her hair, his wife nestled in his arms. 

“Little Lotte…” she had whispered back. His heart ceased to beat when he thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, but it had passed and she seemed to forget it. 

They became Phillipe and Charlotte Deveraux and their community adored them. The Deverauxes attended mass on Sundays, were kind to the local children, and generous whenever they could be. There was never an ill word spoken of the couple. Raoul rose through the ranks at his job and while Christine preferred to stay home, the woman who had taught her to knit now ran a small shop that Christine supplied with hats, scarves, and other winter wear. Raoul noticed some Scandinavian designs working their way into her pieces, and wondered if some part of her recalled her childhood in Sweden. For ten long years, they enjoyed a simpler life in New Orleans.

Raoul should have known his luck would eventually run out. 

He’d always figured her memory would return. That one day, he would come home to find her gone and a note saying she was off to Coney Island to find her Phantom, or worse, that she’d still be there, seething with anger and betrayal. How dare he take advantage of her broken state when he knew her heart desired someone else?

But her memory still hadn’t returned after ten years. He was starting to believe it never would. 

No, it was Mardi Gras that would bring an end to the happy little life they had made. 

**~*~*~*~**

“Father.”

Erik looked up from his desk, which was cluttered with maps and designs for a theater. He’d selected a few choice areas to consider, but the variables were neverending. He offered his son a small, tired smile.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking… about my birthday.”

“Oh?” Erik’s lip twitched as he hid a bigger smile. Gustave was just as enthusiastic about his birthday as his mother had been. Erik always indulged him, and by now Gustave was well aware that Erik would deny him nothing. But it still amused Erik to watch his son try to ask as politely as he could for whatever it was he wanted, and insist that he was perfectly alright with something else, should Erik say no. 

“I’m turning twenty and you said that, for my twentieth, we could take a trip. And I was thinking about where we should go. Gangle is from New Orleans, you know, and he was telling me about a celebration there, Mardi Gras, I think it’s called, and they have parades and parties and-”

“Large crowds.” Erik interrupted. “Throngs of people to stare at  _ this _ .” He gestured to his mask.

“Gangle said everyone wears costumes; no one would think anything of your mask, and a lot of the parties even require masks. You’d blend right in.”

Erik hesitated, mulling it over. The idea of being surrounded by strangers didn’t appeal to him, he was a solitary creature; first by necessity, but by choice these days. Yet when Gustave looked at him with those wide, pleading eyes that so resembled his mother’s, Erik found he could not refuse. He nodded slowly. “Fine. However, I have a condition.”

Gustave nodded eagerly. “What is it?”

“I will foot the bill, but you must make the itinerary. What route will we take to get there? How will we travel? Where will we stay? You are in charge of the details.” 

Gustave nodded again.

Erik smiled, a hint of wickedness underlying. “I expect a detailed plan on my desk by the end of the week.”

“But it’s already Thursday!”

“Then you really ought to be going. Shut the door on your way out.” 

He turned his attention back to his desk, but waited for the soft ‘click’ of the door before he relaxed. He would go to New Orleans to make Gustave happy, but he didn’t share his son’s idyllic belief that no one would take notice of his mask. He’d been working on some prosthetics though, and could use this as an opportunity to test them. If they failed, he could return to Coney Island and never darken the Louisiana streets again.

New Orleans. It hadn’t occurred to Erik to consider it as a possible location for his theater. Erik skimmed the maps on his shelf, selecting Louisiana. There was a lot of swamp there, but perhaps he could design a foundation for the building that would prevent any damage. Hurricanes frequented the area as well; the theater would need to be resilient. It would likely be expensive, but he had a fortune he’d barely touched and more than Gustave could possibly spend in his lifetime. Their trip would allow him to scout the area further and determine if he really wanted to build his homage to Christine there. The longer he thought about it, the more it grew on him. 

New Orleans had a high French population. It was truly an ideal location for a theater paying tribute to a famous Parisian opera singer, and the connection to France might entice the French populace to attend the shows. 

Once he had more of a plan, he intended to bring Gustave in on the subject. Gustave could oversee construction while Erik returned to run Phantasma. He also wanted his son to choose the first season. Erik knew that Gustave had been writing an opera of his own, and he desperately hoped that Gustave would use the opportunity to have his own show performed. If he suggested it to Gustave outright, the boy would likely be too shy to agree, so instead, he would try to push him in the right direction. 

Gustave never shared his work with Erik, and he respected his privacy, but he was eager to see what his son’s musical genius had composed. Music had bound him to Christine, and it was the only way he knew how to bond with another being. The musical link existed between them, but it saddened Erik to be unable to nurture it and have a deeper relationship with Gustave. 

Erik broke from his thoughts and tried to organize the many papers cluttering his desk. He would need to bring his drafts and maps to Louisiana, and hope that the area would inspire him when it came to choosing a layout. Admittedly, there was a design he favored that included a network of secret passageways throughout the theater. He needed to remind himself that his haunting days were finished. 

Still, there were times a hidden passage could come in handy. It was worth considering. 

He packed it with a sigh, already longing for the trip to be done with and the details hashed out. He looked heavenward, muttering. “I never could tell you ‘no’ either. I hope it amuses you, to see what I put up with for our son.” 

He could only imagine the teasing smirk on Christine’s lips, as she wrapped her arms around his middle and murmured “We both know you wouldn’t trade him for the world.” And she would have been right. 


End file.
